


The Quick Case of the Weird Distress Signal from Argyll

by Nehszriah



Series: The Thick of UNIT [15]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: But nothing too overt, Gen, Prompt Fic, Red Bull in a flask, Sea Devils - Freeform, The Thick Of Unit, also technically a crossover with The Thick of It, bad Gaelic/Latin, by now Three's less of a jerk so he's more naturally shippable, rated T for OC's language and chain smoking, the UNITfied TARDIS that should have been, vague shipping undertones with Yates/Jo and Three/Jo and Three/OC, vaguely mid-classic!s10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 18:52:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7982404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehszriah/pseuds/Nehszriah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A machine the Doctor has been tinkering with spits out a ticker-tape call for help, which he decides to answer while dragging along UNIT, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Quick Case of the Weird Distress Signal from Argyll

**Author's Note:**

> This is partially me wanting to write a Three-era UNIT adventure involving the TARDIS, partially wanting to use the tough-as-nails OC I created to function as Malcolm Tucker's mom in a role that's more than a vague threat, and partially to write potential TTOU backstory (or at least poke at doing so).

Jo turned as she carefully backed herself into the door in order to open it without spilling any of the coffees that she was in the middle of fetching. It was her turn, even if her turn was more often than others’ due to qualifications and experiences and all that, but she didn’t mind. The entire department was up in arms about the Doctor’s new device-thingy and the readings it was putting out, though it was all very puzzling.

“Coffees and biscuits!” she called out happily. She placed the tray down on the table and began distributing the late-night pick-me-ups; the Brigadier grumpily muttered his thanks, Sargent Benton simply nodded, and the Doctor…

“I simply can’t make any sense of it,” he frowned. He scratched his fluffy white hair and pondered the tickertape spools that were in front of them. It had only started as an experiment at combining human technology at the current level with his more sophisticated Time Lord sciences, yet instead what was yielded was a mess of readouts that he was unable to make heads or tails of. “I get the feeling there’s more to this than meets the eye…”

“Ahem.” Jo cleared her throat and edged the cup and saucer closer towards the Doctor. Another visual nudge and he finally noticed her.

“Oh, why thank you Jo,” he said apologetically. “It’s just that this thing even has me stumped.”

“No matter what I do, the origin coordinates of the message lead straight to an old UNIT storagehouse in Argyll that hasn’t been used in years,” Captain Yates added. He was hunched over a map on a nearby table, puzzling over the handwritten notes and triangulations he’d made earlier. When Jo brought over their coffees, he stood up straight and gave her a warm smile. “Thanks—I just really wish there was more we could do.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get it,” she replied encouragingly, nodding her head in the process. Yates felt warm inside, even before taking a sip of coffee, because he couldn’t help but catch her infectious enthusiasm. “Do you think it might help to go over the facts again?”

“I don’t see what use there is, Miss Grant,” the Brigadier groaned. “I know you’re only trying to help, but we’ve been at this for hours, and I’m not sure how many more facts we can take.”

“Well, the signal is obviously a distress call from an old UNIT building in Scotland, but there hasn’t been anything military or science-related in that building for at least five years, nearly ten if you go back to when it was decommissioned,” Benton said.

“…and it doesn’t smell like the Master either, which luckily leaves him out,” the Doctor mentioned. He then pondered that, not liking where his mind was going. “At least, it doesn’t have the Master’s fingerprints, but that doesn’t automatically rule out his involvement.”

“If the Master could be involved, have you calculated the _when_?” Jo wondered. Benton and the Brigadier looked at one another, flabbergasted, while a light seemed to shine over the Doctor’s face.

“That’s it, Jo!” he exclaimed. The alien put his coffee down and went back to the opened back of the machine to begin tinkering again.

“You mean you haven’t calculated the when yet?” she marveled.

“Looks like the Doctor will make a scientist out of you yet, Jo,” Yates chuckled. She grinned up at him and then they all watched as the Doctor made the final adjustments to his machine. He wasn’t even up off his hands and knees yet when the tickertape began to go again. One quick glance and he immediately knew what to do.

“Brigadier, I have the solution!” he beamed. “Come! We haven’t a moment to spare!”

“Doctor, you have a space- _time_ machine—I’m almost certain we have plenty of moments to spare,” the Brigadier frowned. All he knew was that he was too tired to be chasing after the Doctor all willy-nilly, which was arguably what these adventures ended up being.

“You can nap in the TARDIS, if you’d like,” Jo offered.

“No… just as long as it produces some of those energy drink concoctions it did last time,” he replied. He allowed Jo to take him by the arm and lead him into the ship, which was still just as spacious and accommodating as last time. The Doctor was already setting coordinates, while Benton and Yates were glancing around in an effort to see what the ship had left for them this time. None of the humans had a difficult time imagining that it was the ship itself that was able to do such marvelous things and know precisely what everyone needed. Small baskets had been prepared for each of them, each with a change of clothes, and some aspirin and an energy drink in the Brig’s.

“Looks like the TARDIS would rather us go in civvies,” Benton observed. “Little old-fashioned, don’t you think? Looks like stuff m’dad would wear when I was a kid.”

“We are going back in time a bit, so it may be for the better,” the Doctor mused. “Jo, can you be a dear and figure out what to do with the extra things?”

“All going in my basket, Doctor,” she said, already gathering the extra bits from everyone’s ship-given care packages into her own. When she was all done, she excused herself and took her clothes with her down the corridor to her own room, leaving the men to quickly change in the console room.

“You told me this stuff was from the future, Doctor, but how far?” the Brigadier wondered, holding up the energy drink can up. “I think we can really use this in UNIT for the longer shifts.”

“Oh, buy some Lucozade in the time being—no worries,” the Doctor said. The Brigadier frowned at that, though let it go considering that the TARDIS was landing. He had only been on the ship a couple of times, but a ship was a ship and landing meant that the mission was about to start.

“Alright now,” he said, clearing his throat, “I want a full-scale sweep of the village when we exit the TARDIS, with everyone using the ship as a base of operations.” He glanced upwards and twitched his mustache, not entirely sure he was doing this. “Please have a desk ready for me when we return, old girl. I would appreciate it.” The lights dimmed and some sort of instrument hummed loudly—an agreement. It was then that Jo returned, with the Brigadier turning his attention towards her. “Jo, I’d like for you to accompany the Doctor; keep him out of trouble.”

“Actually, Brigadier, I’m going to have to request Jo go with you gentlemen—I’ve got some tests I need to conduct on the outskirts of the village and I believe she’d be more useful to you than me at the moment.”

“Well that’s kind of you,” Jo pouted. She grabbed hold of Yates’s elbow, feeling rather shoved aside, knowing that he at least was going to treat her nicely while they were out.

“Alright then, let’s go!” the Brigadier announced. He clapped his hands once and then led those under his command out, while the Doctor stuck around for a little bit to finish gathering his supplies.

Stepping out of the TARDIS, the UNIT officers and Jo found themselves on the small island of Ionaltradh. A late-morning mist gently blanketed the ground, with the village not too far away from where the Doctor parked. The four walked into the village together, noting how few things there were compared to what they were used to; all the place consisted of was a smattering of buildings, including a church, a small school, and…

“A pub, good—let’s see what the comings and goings are,” the Brigadier announced confidently. He led the peaceful charge in, approaching the bar with a great amount of efficiency. The proprietor was preparing for the day ahead, and noticed the strangers before their leader had a chance to talk.

“You with UNIT?” he asked.

“Why, yes,” the Brigadier replied, absolutely stunned. “How did you…?”

“Anyone new t’ the isle wants to see Fhagail, and it seems t’ government has been giving up on her,” the barman explained. He gave them all a quick glance-over and nodded. “Aye, you’re more a peace mission you are with that lassie; what is it you need Fhagail for?”

“Actually, we wanted to know if there’s been any strange happenings lately,” Benton supplied. “We received a distress call from somewhere on this island.”

“We got a few amateur radios on the island, but none that could send out a distress without the others knowing,” the barman frowned. “We’re generally a good lot ‘round here, or at least try t’ be, and we’d ask for help from others already here before sending for it—Fhagail might know what the message was about. You can find her in a cottage two miles t’ the northwest, on the water.”

“Thank you,” the Brigadier nodded, tipping his cap. He then turned towards his subordinates (and Jo) and sighed. “Well, time to get walking.”

* * *

Once he was sure everyone else was far enough away, the Doctor took his leave of the TARDIS, walking in a completely different direction than his companions. If his hunch was correct, he imagined that he could get to the bottom of this whole ordeal in a rather sufficient manner. He reached the shoreline in no time at all, looking out at the sea before him while pondering over his different theories. Walking along the rocky beach, he looked for signs of life, something that was abruptly ended by a voice cutting over the sounds of sea spray and wind.

“Oi! Get the fuck off the beach!”

The Doctor snapped his attention around and saw a woman walking up from behind him. She was dressed in trousers and a plain shirt, with massive headphones resting along her neck that was attached to a large metal pack on her back. The woman stomped over towards him, cigarette dangling from her mouth, and stared up at him.

“You do realize, my dear, that you don’t need to use such language to be treated fairly,” he replied.

“Fucking hell,” she scowled. “Can you Englishmen _sound_ more bloody pretentious?”

“I shall have you know that it is quite on accident,” he said. “Furthermore, I’m considerably less English than what the average ear can tell.” He watched as she rolled her eyes and walked around him, holding half of the headphones to her ear. “Now why do I need to stay off the beach if you seem completely welcome?”

“It’s my _job_ ; been weird shit going on lately, and I’m here to make sure it’s not those Norse pretty-boys whining about their sodding fish,” she explained. A couple steps and she turned around, looking at him critically. “The lads at MI6 didn’t send you, did they?”

“Do they _often_ send people here to harass you?”

“ _‘Check in’_ is a better term.” She considered him before sticking her hand out in front of her, which he took to shake. “Name’s Tucker, but the locals call me Fhagail. It means—”

“ _Rant_ , yes, I am aware of Gàidhlig’s tones; you speak it well for a Springburn native.”

“…and you speak it well for sounding like an English toff.”

“I take that as a real compliment, Miss Tucker; I’m the Doctor, and I’m here with some associates investigating a distress signal we received from around here.”

“I would’ve heard it if there was one,” she said. “Only odd signals I’ve been getting sound like some local playing a fucking prank—unearthly shit if I’ve ever heard some.”

Now _that_ caught the Doctor’s attention. “Unearthly? Are you sure?”

“Got some recordings back at the cottage I’m staying at, if you want to take a listen. What organization are you with?”

“Oh, I’m a scientific advisor for UNIT’s UK Mainframe, though it’s only in a temporary capacity.”

“Then what’s your normal affiliation?” she asked suspiciously. Tucker then took the cigarette stub from her mouth and tossed it into the rocky sand, blowing the remaining smoke from her lungs out into the air. “Rather know if I’ve invited some Poxbridge twat into my office or not.”

“Gallifrey,” the Doctor replied. He took out his psychic paper and let her examine it, which she did so with utmost scrutiny.

“Irish—should’ve known,” Tucker said. She passed back the paper and gestured over her shoulder. “C’mon; set up shop over there.” She then began to walk away, assuming the Doctor would follow; she was right.

“I really wish you wouldn’t do that,” he mentioned as they went down the length of the beach.

“Do what?”

“Toss your cigarettes onto the beach—ruining your health by smoking anything at all is your choice, but at least manage it so that you can appropriately contain the waste.”

“Shut the fuck up or your arse is going in the ocean.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The remainder of the walk to the tiny cottage was quiet, only punctuated by the call of birds overhead. It was a modest, one-room building, with the sitting area in one corner and the kitchen in another, with a ladder going up towards a loft that was presumably for sleeping. An entire wall was taken up by handwritten notes covering a map of the island and another was piled high with technical equipment. The Doctor was immediately drawn towards it, scratching his chin as he examined Tucker’s findings.

“Are these instances of the odd signals?” he wondered.

“Yeah, for the most part—that’s only six months’ worth of data, which was when I first came over,” she said while she prepared some tea. “Anything from before that isn’t included, as it either wasn’t recorded or doesn’t match.”

“What do you mean, ‘doesn’t match’?”

Tucker went over to where a tape recorder sat and began to rummage through a nearby box. She took a spool of tape out and threaded it through before handing the Doctor the headphones. “This is an example of the shit that was being recorded around this time last year by some locals.” He put the headphones on and she hit play.

“It sounds like some whalesong mixed with… something.”

“Now this is a sample from last month.” She switched the tapes and the Doctor’s eyebrows shot up. “Hear that?”

“That’s earthly, but definitely not of this time,” he frowned. The Doctor turned towards Tucker with his most serious face. “What would you say if I told you that Humans were not the only sentient species on this planet, and that they were once the dominant species?”

“I would say you’re a fucking nut,” she scowled. She rummaged around for her cigarettes and a match, lighting up almost soon as she found them. “Fuck—you’re serious.”

“Serious as a Silurian… well, a Sea Devil is more like it,” he replied. The Doctor gestured around the map, pointing out a couple different clusters. “The geologic timing is more or less correct, as well as the spacing, and if my hunch is correct, then there is a giant hibernation chamber underneath this island.”

“Don’t follow—a hibernation chamber? Like a bear?”

“In a way; they calculated that there would be a giant cataclysmic event that would see the moon crash into Earth and put nearly all of their kinds into deep-freeze hibernation,” the Doctor said. “Obviously this never happened, and all their hibernation did was have them step aside for Humans to evolve to the point to where they claimed the vacant spot at the top of the food chain, so to speak.”

“So a Sea Devil is _what_ , exactly?”

“An aquatic version of a Silurian—not a very well-regarded one, hence the name. _Homo reptilia_ is probably the main species’ designation, or at least will be one day, and unlike with _Homo sapiens_ , the genetic subgroups are cause for different subspecies designations… this one I believe is something along the lines of _Homo reptilia aquatibbilius_.”

“Lizard people from the fucking dawn of time that don’t get along with others and live in the sodding ocean.”

“That is correct.”

“Fucking bollocks,” Tucker muttered under her breath. She went to turn the whistling kettle off when a knock on the door distracted her. Opening the door, she found the Brigadier and Yates supporting an unconscious Benton between them, while Jo stood nearby looking terribly distressed. “Doctor, these must be yours.”

“What happened?!” he asked, watching as his friends filed in. Benton was deposited in an armchair while Jo began to dig in her bag, pulling out a medkit.

“Sargent Benton fell into a pit of some sort, which led into an underground chamber nonhuman in make,” the Brigadier replied. He took a flask from his inner jacket pocket and took a swig before stashing it away again. “If I remember correctly, it’s Silurians.”

“Sea Devils,” Tucker supplied. The Brigadier glanced over to the woman who was back to making tea and raised his eyebrow curiously.

“…and you are…?”

“Your worst fucking nightmare if you don’t watch yourself,” she shot back. Tucker then poured some tea, bringing it over to the Doctor and Jo, with only one cup left for herself. “Right; so what are we going to do about the distress signals that the Sea Wanks are sending out? It’s obviously not for any of us to encounter.”

“How do you gather that, Miss?” Yates asked.

“They’re the only ones around to make the sounds I’m picking up other than the inbred sheep-fuckers, and something a bit on the fantastic side might end up making a decent bedtime story for my wee girlie at home.”

“Then let’s go investigate this Sea Devil lair and see what we can do about disarming the distress beacon,” the Doctor decided. “Jo, you stay here and make sure Benton is well-looked-after.”

“Sure thing,” she replied cheerily. Her enthusiasm faded, however, when she saw the Brigadier make for the door. “Not you too—you’re barely standing.”

“I’m fine,” the Brigadier argued.

“You’ve refilled that flask of yours twice, and I’ve no more energy drink in my bag; you’re staying.”

“Miss Grant, I do believe _I’m_ the one who gives the orders around here, in case you’ve forgotten how military command works.” He then yawned and attempted to stretch, grunting sourly. “Now that I think about it, I am a bit woozy…”

“Then stay here, Brigadier; I’ll take Miss Tucker and Captain Yates and we’ll be right back.”

“You better,” Jo teased. She wished the three farewell before making sure the Brigadier was solidly taking a nap on the couch.

Once she was sure both her charges were sleeping soundly, Jo began to look around the cottage, seeing the sorts of things Tucker kept there. She mainly found books and charts and photographs snapped with what was probably the old camera sitting on the desk. Actually, it was all old to her, yet it was really actually cutting-edge and modern since the Doctor had told them they were going back in time a bit. How much though? The thought vanished from her mind as a framed photograph caught her eye: one of Tucker with a girl of about six or seven, both smiling broadly. Putting it back down, Jo simply smiled to herself—even Miss Tucker had to have someone she cared about.

Minutes turned into hours and Jo tried to find things to occupy her time. She swept the floor, washed dishes, made tea, and had just finished washing the last window when the Doctor, Yates, and Tucker returned. All three looked beaten and bruised, though only Yates seemed to be exhausted out of the lot.

“Never make me go one-on-one with any Silurian ever again,” he groaned, sinking down onto the tiny bit of couch not occupied by his sleeping superior.

“…and to think that the Sea Devils were genetically adapted to oceanic life, meaning that they were the easiest as far as hand-to-hand combat is concerned,” the Doctor mentioned.

“Did you _really_ learn aikido from Venusians?” Tucker asked incredulously. “I’ve seen moves like yours before, but there’s something about it that’s _off_ …”

“That, my dear, is a story for a different day,” he grinned cheekily. Tucker punched him lightly on the arm and searched around for another pack of cigarettes—she needed a calm-down probably more than ever before, and it felt _amazing_.

“I almost want to come with you fuckers, leave this shit behind, but the only way I leave it behind is if my daughter comes too.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t really allow that,” the Doctor apologized. “This sort of travel isn’t safe for adults, let alone children.”

“Then at least stay the night, all of you, before you’re off again,” Tucker offered.

“Considering the Brigadier’s sleeping like a rock and Benton hasn’t woken up yet, I don’t think we have a choice,” Jo said.

“Well said,” the Doctor agreed. It was final—they were staying the night, though they did all leave in the morning, the time travelers towards the TARDIS and the government operative to the ferry that would bring her on her way back to her daughter. Jo tried to take down Tucker’s contact information to see her in their normal time, yet somehow it vanished when they returned to their place in the space-time continuum. The mystery of the vanishing address was a topic of discussion for a while, that was, until the Master decided to play another deadly trick, and then it was back to the same old grind.

 


End file.
